Trust Me
by Filthy.And.Delirious
Summary: Following the 'accident', Quinn was trapped in a wheelchair, yet she refused to give up hope. Rachel, torn with guilt, became her saving grace. However, not everyone was too pleased with Quinn's predicament; maybe you'd go so far as to suggest they wished she'd never survived... The danger is far from over. Faberry, Finchel. And instances of mild violence, and swearing.
1. Chapter 1

**AU: I've been working on this fic for too long - it started out as a little story I was telling my brother, and then grew into an actual fanfiction. My first Faberry fanfic, so I'm pretty excited, and I really hope you like it.**

**Reviews and queries are strongly encouraged! (you may also send them to my tumblr (**thecapitolwhore**), if you wish). Feedback makes me want to update faster!**

* * *

**Trust Me**

"You said it was no problem! You told me that I wouldn't have to worry about it again – because you had it covered! This is not covered – _she_ is not covered!" the frankenteen paced his bedroom floor, kicking stray objects out of his way as he walked. His whole form visibly trembled from his increasing rage. He spoke into a small mobile phone, pressed firmly against his left ear.

The responding voice was calmer, as if they were merely discussing a sunny day or the latest news in a politic run; "We apologise for this delay, Mr. Hudson but our -"

She was cut off by Finn's livid tones, as he barked out a humourless, cruel laugh. "_Delay?_ No, no; you had your chance – you failed. And now I have to pay the price. I thought you guys were supposed to be professional."

"There are always cases where success takes time; this is not unusual. All we ask is that you remain patient in the meantime."

"I've been patient! I've waited weeks for you to actually do something and when you do, you fail!"

It was evident in the woman's tone that her own patience was running thin; however, it was the word 'fail' which seemed to irk her more than anything else the young teenager had said. "Mr. Hudson, we understand your -"

"No! No, you do not. For god's sake, stop telling me 'you understand'! What I want _you_ to understand is that _you_ didn't keep up your end of the deal! It's been over two weeks and I am _understandably_ pissed off," Finn kicked a soft toy out of his way, so it ricocheted off his door with a helpless squeak. "What kind of company do you even run? You know what, the deal's off. You can forget being paid too."

The change in his correspondent's tone was enough to stop anyone in their tracks, so when Finn almost tripped up on his own feet, it wouldn't have been too much of a surprise to the invisible woman. "Mr. Hudson, I think you need to remember who you are talking to," there was a short pause before she spoke again. "...and what our line of work involves."

Finn paused, his heart thumping unnaturally fast, although not from anger. He stared at the floor of his bedroom and despite his wanting to throw the phone at his wall, he told himself to calm down and focus. "Yeah," he replied, somewhat shakily; his anger was still there, though under some control now.

"Good," she spoke as if she had just taught a lesson to an insolent child. "As I was saying, we understand your anger but we_ are_ accustomed to these sort of scenarios and we can assure you that your particular case will be dealt with as soon as possible; even now, we are working on it and I can personally promise you that you will receive your money's worth by the end of the month. Thank you." The line clicked and was silent.

There was a long pause, filled only by the sound of Finn's heavy, angry breaths; he cursed the woman, he cursed her company, he cursed their idiocy but above all, he cursed -

* * *

"Quinn," the knock on the door and familiar (albeit strangely shy) voice made the blonde jump slightly in her chair. "Can I come in?"

Rachel had been wanting to visit Quinn for too long; she felt an immense amount of guilt about her former bridesmaid's accident, not least because it was _her_ wedding that Quinn had been rushing to, but had found it difficult to actually see the girl.

It had been a week since Quinn was hit by a truck; it was nothing short of a miracle that she'd survived. Her hospital room had been filled to bursting point with gifts and cards, all willing her to get better. The Glee Club would come to wish her well everyday, singing to her and keeping her up to date with what had been going on. Everyone wanted to see her – well, _almost_ everyone; the guilt-ridden Rachel couldn't bear to see the broken girl in her hospital bed. Therefore, an impatient wait until Quinn's escape from the white, anaesthetically stained walls of her hospital room had begun for the brunette.

Unable to go upstairs, the downstairs living room had been transformed into a make-shift bedroom, upon Quinn's return from the hospital. Her mother had carefully installed disability-bars in the bedroom and connecting bathroom to help Quinn regain some of her independence when necessary.

Nearly everything from her old bedroom had been moved downstairs to recreate her haven. Her mother had made a huge effort to make Quinn feel comfortable, and her daughter couldn't be more grateful; she had even hung up fairy lights around the frame of the French doors that led out to the garden.

"Of course," Quinn called from behind the closed door. Rachel took a breath before opening the door, afraid that she would be met by a bruised, battered Quinn that was so much worse than the picture the Glee Club had described to her. Instead, she was met by a girl who was still as beautiful and lovely as ever, with a warm, welcoming smile on her pink lips; the only difference in her appearance was that she was sitting in a big, metal wheelchair.

And yet, Rachel still teared up at the sight, just as she promised herself she would not do. It was not only the guilt and regret that consumed her but she hated seeing her friend in such pain.

"I-I brought you this," she produced a CD from her bag: the Funny Girl soundtrack. It was the original Broadway soundtrack too – and Rachel's favourite musical.

"Oh, Rachel!" An involuntary smile found her lips. "Thank you!" She appreciated the gift far more than she thought she would, lifting her hands from her lap to wheel herself over to Rachel and take the CD, her fingers lingering on Rachel's for half a second before the contact broke.

Rolling over to the CD player, which sat on the floor, cushioned between her bed and bedside table for the optimum listening experience, she carefully removed the disc from its compact and placed it into the CD player. Almost instantly, the Overture swam into the bedroom, filling every crevice with its delicious notes, giving life to the basic furnishings of Quinn's new bedroom, and encouraging everything and everyone to dance to its lively notes.

"You'll love track eleven," Rachel said, after a moment; the music had danced her over to Quinn's bed, where she now perched, less than a foot from Quinn.

Quinn chuckled, picking up the CD case again. "Let me guess... 'Don't Rain On My Parade' is eleven?" she asked, casting her eyes down to the listing on the back of the case. A couple of seconds later, she nodded. "Yep, right as rain – excuse the pun," she added, rolling her eyes at herself.

Rachel's lips stretched into a huge, beaming smile; she wiped her few tears away with the back of her hand. "I thought you'd appreciate it; Barbra always cheers me up when I'm upset," she said.

"Then I think we need to play it a little louder, otherwise we may just drown," Quinn teased, turning the music up a few extra decibels. "Don't be sad, Rach. I'm happy. You should be. I have plenty to be happy for."

Rachel nodded in agreement. "I know, I know; I'm sorry, Quinn – for crying, like this," she amended quickly, aware that Quinn didn't want her feeling so guilty, even though Rachel couldn't help it. The brunette's smile was still present, however.

"Barbra really is brilliant," Quinn said conversationally, rolling her chair around so she was facing Rachel. "You're brilliant too, Rachel. Just as good, in fact – if not better. You are gonna be a huge star one day," she told her, her eyes shining with genuine honesty. She wanted Rachel to go far. Out of everyone in Glee Club, Rachel definitely had the most passion and ambition for the arts. Of course, there was no doubt that all in the Glee Club loved music but Rachel was the star. She was the burning fire that kept them all going. Unfortunately, there was little appreciation for her excellence now but when she hit the big-time, everyone would be quick to announce how much they had loved and acknowledged the great Rachel Berry when they knew her.

Was that a blush creeping up Rachel's cheeks? "I wish I was. Barbra is just... perfect. I could never reach that level of perfection. I can only hope to exceed the average singer's abilities and make do with that. That's all I've ever wanted," Rachel paused, a cheeky smile overtaking her bright features. "That and three Tonys by the time I'm thirty."

"Only three?" Quinn queried, an eyebrow raised and her eyes connecting with Rachel's, before each girl broke out in laughter. Quinn was certain Rachel could take the world and more if she wanted to. She believed in Rachel Berry.

The album's second song, "If A Girl Isn't Pretty", came to its conclusion and finally Queen Streisand's epic tones filled the room, telling the world, "I'm the Greatest Star," and meaning it. Not that either girl present could argue.

"Well, I'd better go; my dads will be worried," Rachel said, almost regretfully, when the CD player clicked, announcing the end of the Funny Girl soundtrack for now. The girls had spent most of the soundtrack singing along with it, although Quinn permitted Rachel to take the solo for the eleventh track – anyone else singing it would be unthinkable. They had discussed Glee Club and their futures during the quieter moments of the soundtrack, its music filling the times that conversation lulled and they had fallen into silence. Quinn had discovered that, initially, Rachel had wanted to be a princess, not a musical stage actress, whereas, in turn, Rachel found out that Quinn had her own fondness for vegan cooking – but her love for bacon would forever prevent her from pursuing a strictly vegan lifestyle.

The clock struck seven and Rachel stood to leave; however, it was Quinn who rolled forth and pulled Rachel down into a tight hug. No words were exchanged but no words needed to be; there was only Quinn and Rachel, _friends_.

"Quinn?" the brunette paused by the door, her fingers silently tapping the wood of the door frame.

"Yeah, Rachel?" Quinn had been watching her friend leave with a weird forlorn feeling and the pause caused her heart to involuntary and inexplicably bounce.

"Thank you, for talking to me, I guess," Rachel said quietly, finding it difficult to find the right words but her eyes twinkled all the same, as if there was some hidden secret behind them that she was trying to express – while simultaneously ensuring it remained a secret.

"Any time," answered Quinn. Rachel closed the door behind her, leaving Quinn in her wheelchair and her heart hitting her ribcage a mile a minute.

* * *

"Miss Fabray, if you would sit here please."

The office was not as busy as Quinn predicted it would be, especially in these peak hours of the day; only a few officers wandered back and forth across the large room, all with the same stern, deep in thought, frown moulded into their features.

Quinn Fabray wheeled her chair over to the detective's desk, looking around the room with mild interest and tired eyes from the long day. This was the first time she had been called to the Lima Police Department since her accident and its own subsequent questioning, and a few ideas had popped into mind as to why; few of them were positive.

Ms Belle Fair was not as attractive as her name suggested; with a haircut that belonged in the '80s and an upper lip in desperate need of a wax, this twice-married detective was not going to win Miss Ohio any time soon. Then again, neither was the blonde in the wheelchair.

The detective wasted no time in telling Quinn why she had been summoned.

"We believe someone was stalking you," she said frankly, but she gave Quinn no time to react as she hurried on; this detective obviously believed in a no-nonsense, tell-all approach. "Jonah Riley – the truck driver, as you know – he has been connected to some elite, black market organisation; we don't yet know the nature of this group but we can now confirm that the crash was _not_ an accident – in fact, Riley had your photograph in his wallet, leading us to believe you were a target, most likely for murder – although we cannot be certain, only assume. It was just chance that you happened to be texting at the time (a fact I must remind you the Ohio Police Department has not taken lightly), but it gave him good opportunity to make it seem accidental.

"As for his epilepsy records, they were faked. I had a team investigate Riley after the collision and his records were found to be quite superficial – evidently whoever had created them didn't do a very thorough job of it."

She paused, taking a breath and staring Quinn directly in the eye as she continued, indicating to Quinn the importance of what she was about to say. "Miss Fabray, what I'm trying to tell you is that I think you may still be in danger. Whoever orchestrated the attack knew what they were doing. However (if there is a brighter side to be considered), it seems they are getting sloppy – this case mirrors one back in '07.

"Nonetheless, the Ohio Police Department believe it would be in your best interest to have an armed guard watch over you for the foreseeable future. However, do not fret, as this is only a precautionary measure; the chances of future danger are very low. Officer Jensen will be watching you for the time being. You will be perfectly safe," the serious, business tone that Detective Fair had been using up to this point changed to a chirpier, positive one as she finished her speech. The change of tone did not fool Quinn.

And then there was silence. Quinn stared at the middle-aged detective with the shock of someone just told they've contracted a life-threatening illness (not that this situation was completely opposed to that idea). Beside her, Judy Fabray weeped miserably, repeating, "_why, why, why?_" under her breath.

"Someone's trying to _kill me_?" Quinn summed up, her voice reduced to a hoarse croak. Judy nearly choked on her own sobs at the word 'kill'.

Detective Fair paused, only just regaining her own voice back after her speech. "That is a possibility."

Quinn's world crashed.

She was a strong girl, no doubt; she had braved a teen pregnancy, been kicked out of her home, lost and gained and lost her popularity (and status as head cheerleader), loved countless people and hated just as many, been accepted into a club she initially set out to destroy and only a few weeks ago, was accepted into the prestigious Yale university. She had been halfway to Hell and back, and she was only eighteen years old.

But now she was there – and it burned.

"I need to go," she said suddenly amidst the tears that refused to halt. "I have to get out of here."

The detective was about to argue, stress the importance of her staying and their discussion of plans of action. She had to tell the girl how sorry the Ohio Police Department was and how they would do all they could do to keep her as safe and comfortable as humanly possible.

The look in Quinn's eyes told Detective Fair it would have to wait.

Without asking permission, Quinn spun her chair around and sped out of the now silent office (evidently she hadn't been the only one listening to Fair's speech because every wide eye followed her out).

* * *

The unmarked police car drove her to school, parking outside the empty back entrance to the school. Quinn had to take that entrance now anyway, it having the school's only ramp and being as steep as Niagra Falls is dangerous.

Officer Adam Jensen was in his late 20s and had the kind of good looks that every teenager would dream about. He had a large muscular frame and short brown hair, with a determinedly serious expression almost permanently glued onto his handsome face. Despite this, a cheeky, different spark of life still glinted in his focused eyes.

He didn't aid Quinn in her arm-numbingly sore climb up the school ramp; instead, he sat in his driver's seat, fumbling with his papers and such. Either he was trying to be discreet, in case someone came along and saw them, or the more likely option that he was a thoughtless bastard.

Jensen would be spending most of his time hidden away at the back of the school, mobile in hand should Quinn have to call for any reason; other than that, he would travel with her to and from school. Fortunately for him though, he lived on the same street as her, so staking out in front of her home wasn't compulsory.

The watch would last two weeks, with an additional week or more available if Quinn and the Ohio Police Department felt it necessary. The organisation that Riley supposedly worked for was known for getting jobs done quickly so an attack in the near future rather than later was more likely, especially after an initial failed attempt.

Quinn's school day was pretty average, all things considered; well-wishers followed her about all day, teachers decided to take Miss Pilsbury's job, bullies and jocks mocked her, Artie showed her the ropes and the Glee Club was, well, accepting.

Rachel sat next to her in Glee Club.

Finally, after a long day of taking notes and prepping for oncoming exams, the last bell rang and the Glee Club rose to leave.

Finn wanted to vacate the room as fast as he could when school ended; just looking at Quinn made him feel sick. Seeing her wheel herself around in that huge metal chair and fawned over by everyone who passed her by, as if they had been friends for years, he was nearly running to the bathrooms.

Rachel, on the other hand, was doing all she could to ensure Quinn's comfort; the guilt that had encased her heart, soul and mind had eased only slightly since her visit to the Fabray household. She was by Quinn's side every chance she got, carrying her books and pushing her wheelchair all over the school. A glare and berating was awarded to anyone who dared to try and upset the broken girl. Rachel was both a fierce rottweiler and a warm, glimmering presence that lit up the darkness in Quinn's current world.

As for Quinn, what could she do to stop this constant attention without causing Rachel any more pain. Truth be told, Rachel was doing a far more superior job than the silent Jensen, still seated in the wheelchair-friendly people-carrier outside, who was quite probably reading his newspaper contentedly or texting his girlfriend.

Quinn had to shake Rachel off at the back entrance though, despite protests that Finn and her would happily drive the blonde home. "I have a ride, thanks," Quinn told her gently to the dismay of her eager friend.

"Just... be safe, okay?" asked Rachel nervously; she felt fearful for Quinn, even though, for all the brunette knew, there was no apparent danger ahead.

Quinn was about to make a light-hearted joke about her already being in a wheelchair when she gazed into Rachel's warm brown eyes, full of care and concern for Quinn, and told herself firmly that it was too soon to say such things. "I'll be safe," Quinn confirmed with a grin that could charm a snake.

Rachel bent and kissed Quinn's cheek, giving her a tight hug at the same time, before heading down the corridor with her solemn boyfriend. It was only two minutes later when Quinn had just sped down to the bottom of the ramp that both of the girls simultaneously realised what had happened.

Rachel had kissed Quinn.

* * *

_Reviews inspire me to write; care to be my muse?_


	2. Chapter 2

**AU: Just to clarify, because I know some were confused, Finn did send the hitman to kill Quinn. However, the danger is not yet over for our dear Quinnie, as you'll see in this chapter. (Please note: this story is five chapters long, so things do move rather quickly - I hope that doesn't take away from your enjoyment!)**

**Reviews and queries are strongly encouraged! (you may also send them to my tumblr (**thecapitolwhore**), if you wish). Feedback makes me want to update faster!**

* * *

**Chapter Two**

Three days had passed since Quinn had been placed on watch by the Lima Police Department. Each day was very much like the first; she had become accustomed to Officer Jensen's attitude, mostly quiet and serious but on occasion, he had managed to crack a joke or two. On their journeys to and from school, he would play his endless lists of albums, mostly classical but sometimes a bit of rock-metal thrown into the mix too.

On the third day, the usual silence was broken and Quinn learnt more about the mysterious Jensen. He worked casual jobs, not too fussed about the potential excitement or anything. He also had a girlfriend, Cassie, of two years; they had moved to Ohio about five months ago so Cassie could get tenure at the local primary school, which was a few miles from McKinley. Jensen worked out of town a lot though. Having been in the army with a variety of roles there, it was thought he would be best suited to be 'bodyguard' positions. Quinn was his fourth case.

"What were the other cases?" Quinn's curiosity got the better of her.

Jensen thought for a moment, considering his career so far. "Erm, the first – I can't tell you names – was being stalked by his ex's new boyfriend – the boyfriend was caught after a few days though, so no harm done there.

"The second was a young woman who was being sexually harassed by a co-worker; and since he had a history of violence against women, the woman demanded protection. She was pretty rich and I needed some money at the time so I went for it. Anyway, two weeks later, protection ends and then, it turns out she made it all up for attention from her obviously cheating husband – not that he cared much.

"And the third... well, she was fifteen," his voice suddenly dropped an octave, becoming more grave, sombre. Jensen didn't hold the same tone he had for the others; there was a noticeable difference that made Quinn feel a little nervous. "- stabbed by a jealous ex; she survived that though - it was a flesh wound from a three inch knife - and he was arrested but got on parole, although god knows why, he was obviously out of control. On the second night, he got into her house and killed her whole family; made her watch that and then killed her too. Got the death penalty. That happened in South Carolina – where I lived before Ohio."

Quinn swallowed the lump in her throat with a painful wince. Jensen's knuckles had turned white from his tight grip on the steering wheel but his eyes never left the road. Quinn bit her lip nervously as she watched the tortured soul beside her clench and unclench his fists; the guilt Jensen must have felt – _still feel_ – would be unimaginable. But what could Quinn do or say? So she had to force herself to turn and stare out of the car window instead, making a conscious effort not to cry from the sheer horror and sympathy for the murdered girl and her former bodyguard. And for herself.

"Sorry," Jensen said, noticing Quinn's reaction, cringing a little. "Probably should've left out that last one; nasty story, I know."

"It's okay," Quinn managed to convey an even tone. "I asked."

The rest of the journey was continued in silence.

* * *

Rachel wanted to make life as easy and normal as possible for Quinn. She created countless 'get well' cards, choosing only the best to present to Quinn, almost childishly. She dedicated all of her solos to Quinn ("a beacon of hope in a world so full of darkness," she had informed Mr. Schuester, talking about her voice, of course) in Glee Club and even went with Quinn to her physical therapy sessions.

Rumours were circulating. Finn was furious.

"Rachel, you've done enough for her; just leave it," he told his fiancée one day, on their way to the Berry home. His girlfriend had been discussing how Quinn had been so close to taking her first step in therapy the day before; the pride and joy at this was clear in Rachel's expression as she merrily chirped on and on about her day.

The brunette stared at her fiancé in surprise. "What do you mean?"

Finn sighed, his fingers tapping on the steering wheel impatiently as he spoke, wishing more than anything that Rachel would _stop talking about Quinn._ "I mean, the amount of time you've been spending with her is not right – Quinn can look after herself; she doesn't need you constantly following her 'round and pretending you're the best of friends when you're obviously not!"

Rachel was taken aback, hurt by Finn's words. "Finn, I don't understand; you said you were fine with it. And I do feel partially responsible for the accident, seeing as it was _our _wedding that she was rushing to attend! Quinn almost died!"

"What wedding though?" Finn took his hand from the steering wheel to wave his ringless ring finger at Rachel (Finn had neglected to get an engagement ring for himself, believing it was only the bride that required one). "We didn't even get married because you wanted to see Quinn more than you wanted to marry me! Do you even love me anymore?" His voice was beginning to rise in volume as his anger bubbled over into his words. However, his own wounded emotion was present in his tone, confusing Rachel more than ever.

"Quinn was hit by a truck, Finn! We couldn't take our vows while one of my bridesmaids lay half-dead in the hospital, could we?" Rachel was more hurt at these harsh accusations than angry now; where was Finn's abrupt anger spewing from? Barely a day ago, they had been picking out a second wedding date and now her fiancé was accusing her of not loving him enough. "O-Of course I love you," she added in a quiet voice, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear nervously.

"Oh, _really_? Because lately, it seems the only person you care about is that _cripple_!" Finn spat the word out furiously, hitting the steering wheel with his hand as he turned to glare at Rachel.

"STOP THE CAR!"

Rachel flew forward from the impact of the abrupt halt, hitting her forehead on the dashboard with a painful thump. "_Crap,_" Finn muttered and looked at his fiancée's forehead, pushing her fringe out the way to inspect the small two centimetre cut above her left eyebrow. While he still fumed inside, he was concerned for Rachel and didn't want her hurt. "Rachel, you're bleeding!" He scrambled forward, undoing his seatbelt, to get a dirty handkerchief from the pocket in his jeans.

Any other time, Rachel would have screamed at the terrible but tiny cut on her forehead and fallen into Finn's arms, crying self-piteously; a possible performance or photo shoot would be devastated! Yet today was different; she was furious with Finn and didn't want anything to do with him, let alone near her.

"I-I'm fine," Rachel held out a shaking hand to stop the approaching Finn; having him near her right now wouldn't have a positive impact on her emotions. "But we do need to talk..."

Finn's face fell and his lip quivered. "W-what? You're breaking -"

"No!" Rachel was fast to cut in, shocked that her fiancé would come to such a quick conclusion. "But I have to tell you that, while I love and care deeply for you, I am my own person and you have to respect and remember that. Quinn is in pain and I feel that it is my duty to help her out of the hole she is trapped in-" Finn tried to interrupt but Rachel was having none of it and continued on, as if there had been no attempted interruption. "No matter what you say, I care about Quinn too, and her recovery. She is a good person, Finn, and has been through so much, not just the crash. Right now, she needs our support and love more than ever. Not only that she _is_ the prettiest girl I've ever met – and that many others have, I presume – and her entrapment in that wheelchair has no doubt stilted her climb on the popularity ladder, which is so dependent on looks these days, therefore-"

Finn finally succeeded in his interruption now: "Rachel, please, you're always talking about how pretty Quinn is – and you don't get why I'm annoyed? Who cares if she wants to be popular? She isn't and needs to get over it. In my opinion, it all comes to down to Karma – I've been reading up on it, and since she was a bitch to everyone ages ago, Karma's being a bitch to her. So you see, she gets what she deserves. And you shouldn't mess with Karma so Rachel, you should stay away from her."

If Rachel wasn't so upset, she would have laughed at her fiancé's suggestion; to suggest that all the bad things that had ever happened to Quinn just because she was mean to a couple of people in her high school freshman year was ridiculous. Of course, Rachel believed there was always a certain degree of Karma in what people did but to blame Karma for everything negative was plainly childish.

"Seriously, you act like you're in love with her," Finn's voice was quieter but his intentions were the same; his head was bowed yet his eyes met Rachel with a seriousness that shook her core. "I'm not going to be your 'beard' if you are, Rachel; I want the truth."

But Finn had to shout his final sentence because Rachel had already exited the car and began walking quickly down the road, tearing pricking at her sensitive eyes as she cursed the name _Finn Hudson._

* * *

Quinn was drawing in her notebook. She wasn't sure what she was drawing; it had started out as a munchkin from the Wizard of Oz (which she had only just finished watching) but now it was transforming into something – or _someone_ – else.

Her phone vibrated. It did so in three short bursts before continuing to vibrate until she picked up the phone and clicked the button to light up the screen. It was a text. From Jensen.

Her heart leaped into her throat; a text was worse than a phone call because it meant _be quiet._ Someone was close – close enough to hear her speak. She opened the text; it contained only one word: "_Car."_

Feigning a yawn, Quinn wheeled her chair around her bed and closed the curtains over the French doors, blocking all view into her bedroom from the outside world. Her heart was racing but her face refused to show it. "Keep calm," she told herself over and over in her mind. Fear threatened to break her.

Curtains closed, she wheeled herself back to the door of her bedroom, silently entering the long, dark hallway. Just five feet away stood the front door, and behind it, Jensen would be waiting, to take her to safety.

Was it her imagination or was the silence _too_ deafening? Before it had been quiet but now it was as though the dead air was frozen around her, waiting for her next move.

It was barely eight in the evening and the sun was setting on the cool February evening, creating long shadows in the poorly lit hallway; her imagination warned her that every shadow and unknown object could be a masked stranger waiting to pounce out and grab her.

The hockey stick was in its usual place by her doorway, fortunately. She reached down for it slowly, audibly exhaling when her fingers touched strong wood – wood that could connect with a skull if need be.

Rolling onward, every shadow was her enemy. The stick was balanced carefully on her lap, prepared to knock the sense out of every intruder but against a gun, would be useless.

Halfway down the hallway and Quinn heard the breaking of glass behind her; a silenced bullet hit the frame of her bedroom door. The blonde screamed and moved her arms as fast as she could, suddenly incredibly grateful for her athletic nature. She slammed into the front door with a loud and pained cry.

She reached for the lock but a swift, dreadful thought hit her. Jensen's third charge was not only killed but her whole family too – Judy wouldn't return until midnight from her date. If Quinn left, who would protect her mother?

Too late. Jensen, as though sensing Quinn's presence behind the door, yanked it out of her frozen fingers. "Why are you just sitting there?" he shouted incredulously, gun in hand, and darted around her to wheel Quinn out of her home.

"Stop!" Quinn's hands tightened around the tops of her wheels, her growing arm-strength enough to stop Jensen from pushing her any further. Her palms burned from the friction. "My mother!" she reminded her guard angrily.

"What about her?" grunted Jensen as he attempted to push her chair onward – Quinn was quite strong for her age and stature. However, Jensen knew every second counted when someone was after you.

"I won't leave without making sure she'll be okay!" Quinn said stubbornly, keeping her sore arms firm and refusing to move until she received a certain reply.

"Quinn, we don't have much time – someone is here to _kill you_ – your mother will be fine!" Jensen was growing agitated, his hand twitching beside his gun, which was now firmly locked in his belt. He didn't like standing out here in the open, where anyone could see them.

"No!" Quinn yelled; she would rather die than put her mother in danger. Despite Judy Fabray's flaws, she was still Quinn's mother and Quinn loved her.

Jensen gave the chair an almighty push just as Quinn set her pained and shaking feet onto the hard pavement in front of them; the move caused the chair to tip and Quinn fell to the ground, scraping her knees just enough for her to feel it, with a cry of surprise and hurt.

"Shit," Jensen whispered, running around the chair to pick up the fallen girl into his arms. He resolved to leave the chair, kicking it out of sight in the shadow of a large tree and take Quinn straight to the car without it. He had to cover Quinn's mouth as she screamed to be let go and brought back to her home; she named him all the curse words she had ever enountered or read but he had heard it all before and pushed her into the back seat of his Fiat determinedly.

"Jensen, what about my mother?!" shouted Quinn, tears filling her eyes, as he started to drive them out of the neighbourhood.

"She's fine, Quinn! She's at the station, waiting for us; we got intel that something was happening tonight and it seems I got you out just in time," Jensen told her in as steady a voice as he could control under the tense circumstances. He kept glancing in the rear-view mirror to check they weren't being followed, his gun on the passenger seat beside him; Quinn had accidentally left her hockey stick on the front lawn after being picked up by Jensen.

"You could have just told me that!" Quinn had to forcibly resist the urge to whack the officer on the side of his head; however, her anger was beginning to fade as she reminded herself her mother would be quite safe at the police station.

"Yeah, well, I had other things on my mind than that," he said, his eyes meeting Quinn's in the rear-view mirror. "Getting you out of there comes first, then we can talk."

Knowing her mother was in safe hands calmed Quinn to a degree but the present situation was enough to make her want to throw up – _someone_ was in her home. They could be following her even now.

But why? What did she do to anyone to deserve this? Sure, she had bullied a few people, an act she truly regretted ever committing – but nothing to warrant _murder_! She had made her peace with all those she had taunted and mocked; so who could it be? Or was it just some crazed stranger that had picked her out of a random bunch to be tormented and killed?

Quinn cast her eyes down to her legs spread out in front of her in a position that should be uncomfortable but wasn't. She poked her right thigh; some feeling, not much though – as if she had only been brushed lightly by a feather or something. Standing was painful; it was like walking on wooden sticks instead of feet. Her physical therapist told her this was progress and soon enough, it would stop hurting as her legs healed and grew stronger.

And then there was Rachel – her ever-present angel – always coaxing her on, with a brilliant white smile that could light up the darkest of alleys. She wiped away all of Quinn's hopeless tears and told her things will get better, reminding Quinn of all the reasons to keep going when she was at her lowest; not once did Rachel get tired of her or grow annoyed at Quinn's stubborn attitude. Patient, kind, attentive; Rachel was... perfect.

"Stop it," Quinn whispered aloud to herself. She didn't appreciate _those_ thoughts clouding her mind at such an important time. She had to focus on the current dilemma.

"You alright, Quinn?" Jensen asked from the driver's seat, noticing Quinn's agitated manner in the back. "Don't give up now – we're almost there."

Quinn nodded and looked out of the car window, expecting the safe glow of the Lima Police Station. Instead, she was greeted by what seemed like hundreds of thick trees, all grouped together, casting off dark, grim shadows as the car passed. Gravel crunched beneath the car's tires as they drove deeper into the darkness.

"Jensen... where are we going?" Quinn asked, frowning; she didn't recognise this part of Lima – although now she doubted if they were still in Lima, at all. They had been driving for about twenty minutes at this point, and it was only now Quinn noticed the high speed they were moving at; they could be anywhere.

He didn't answer immediately; he kept driving for another minute until they reached a small wooden cabin, which looked as though it hadn't been touched in years. Long vines of ivy hung around its frame and a couple of the windows were cracked, probably from stray footballs over the years. The door, however, looked sturdy and strong, with a large metal lock.

_A safe-house,_ Quinn thought to herself. _God, this must be bad..._

Yet something about this place didn't feel so safe; the dark, claustrophobic trees that surrounded the cabin, the old, haunted look it gave off – it seemed like something straight out of a horror movie.

"Jensen, what are we doing -" Quinn started but stopped dead in her tracks. Jensen was turned around in his seat, staring right at her.

And pointing a gun between her eyes.

* * *

**AN: This chapter was shorter than I would have liked but do not fret, dear readers, for the chapters**_** do**_** get longer as the story progresses!**

_Reviews inspire me to write; care to be my muse?_


	3. Chapter 3

**AU: Firstly, with regards to the new cover art for **Trust Me**, I would very much like to thank pressedlemonsaur .tumblr .com for creating it! I completely adore it. Also, she is happy to make more cover arts for other fanfictions - so if you want to drop a note in her ask, perhaps she'd be interested. She is pretty superb, isn't she?**

**Thank you guys so much for all the reviews, follows and favourites - they do not go unnoticed! If you have a question and an account, please don't use Anon so I can answer you privately; it makes life that bit easier. However, in response to a Guest's review, Adam Jensen is an original character. The name is pretty common so I see where you got that idea. But nope, he was partially inspired by Jensen Ackles (and when I picture him, I confess Adam Jensen looks somewhat like him), hence the namesake. That's mainly due to my brother and I being big fans of Jensen Ackles/Supernatural - this story was originally for my brother anyway.**

**Reviews and queries are strongly encouraged! (you may also send them to my tumblr (**thecapitolwhore**), if you wish). Feedback makes me want to update faster!**

* * *

**Chapter 3:**

Rachel had spent a good deal of time after school that day cursing Finn Hudson and nursing her sore feet from the three mile walk home in heels. She couldn't understand why he was being so unreasonable, when all she was trying to do was help a friend in need – surely he could understand that, as he was so helpful toward Artie last year, fighting to get him on the football team.

Then again, the Berrymen weren't exactly miserable at their daughter's fight with her fiancé, seeing as they'd actually tried to stop the wedding from the start; they hated the idea of Rachel wasting her dreams on someone who didn't even know what he wanted for dinner that evening! Furthermore, a wedding at this age was bound to end in tears and divorce papers – especially for such a mismatched couple. So, as their daughter frothed and fumed upstairs, they sat downstairs, cheerily surfing summer music and theatre programs for their talented little starlet.

"I can't believe him... thought we loved... apparently_ Mr. Hudson_ comes first... What would Barbra do... wouldn't mope about a man... be strong, Berry..." mumblings like these had been ongoing since Rachel Berry had stepped foot into her home, following her argument with Finn. However, an argument on such a furious scale as this wasn't that uncommon – after their failed wedding attempt, they'd been arguing more and more, about the most ridiculous of things. Finn was forever adamant that actually getting married would solve all of their problems, whereas all Rachel could think of was poor Quinn, broken up and trapped in that wheelchair. Her wedding to Finn was the least of Rachel's worries right now.

She could understand Finn's irritation though; being his fiancée, she really should be planning their next wedding date, yet why couldn't that wait until Quinn was feeling better? Then the wedding could go ahead without a hitch, Quinn standing by Rachel's side as her happy bride.

_Bridesmaid._ What was that about? She meant _bridesmaid._ Probably just tired after arguing with her _fiancé._

Rachel threw herself onto her bed with a loud groan; why was everything so difficult? A month ago, it was all planned out; she would marry Finn and they would go to New York so she could fulfil her dream. This stupid accident had messed all that up. She had no idea where her head was – as with her heart. Suddenly everything had gone up in flames and she didn't know what she wanted.

Then, before she had even registered what she was doing, she was in her car.

"Apologise. You have to apologise. To Finn," she told herself firmly, nodding her head with each order. "He's your fiancé and you love him. So apologise. And be happy." It was simple enough; maybe just saying sorry would sort it all out and everything wouldn't be so confusing.

Finn's house was five minutes from Rachel's; a short, easy journey that would give the brunette enough time to consider what she should say. She was a couple of streets from the Hudson house when she noticed something.

She was on Quinn's street and something was happening.

The sun was nearly set, so light wasn't easy to come by; Rachel was tempted to direct her car head-lights toward Quinn's front porch but if what she thought was happening _was_ happening then that would not be a good idea.

Quinn was in her wheelchair, a man pushing her toward his car – a Fiat – but Quinn didn't look happy. In fact, she seemed to fighting against him, shouting something that Rachel couldn't hear from the opposite side of the street. Then, the man shoved Quinn out of the chair, sending her flying to the hard ground. Rachel jumped at the sudden movement and meant to run out of the car to help the fallen girl but for some reason, was held frozen in her seat. The man easily picked Quinn up, who was kicking and hitting him furiously, and pushed her into his car.

And just like that, they were gone.

Still, Rachel sat and stared. Her mind was racing.

Had she just witnessed a kidnapping? It seemed likely. However, that man looked strangely familiar, so perhaps it was nothing – a misunderstanding. Quinn had been holding a hockey stick for part of the time – surely if she was in grave danger, she would've hit him with it – therefore she must have known him to some extent.

No matter how many possible scenarios Rachel thought up in her head, all seemed somewhat negative. What she had seen looked pretty clear too. What if something bad happened to Quinn and Rachel did nothing about it? Did she want more guilt and regret on her conscience? She couldn't let anything happen to Quinn.

Rachel put her car back into gear and took a deep breath, staring forward to where the Fiat had disappeared into the darkness. "You can do this, Rachel: Protect Quinn," she said aloud, dimming her headlights and following the car.

* * *

"Jensen, w-what are you doing?" It was a ridiculous question to ask, especially when your so-called 'guard' was handcuffing you to a pipe in a deserted cabin, with a gun trained on your head. However, Quinn wasn't really in the mood to think logically, under the circumstances.

"My job," replied Jensen in a matter-of-fact voice, once he had tightened Quinn's cuffs as tight as they could go. He appeared to be texting someone on his phone but the gun never left Quinn's direction, and she was sure he would use it without a moment's hesitation.

"Your job is to _protect me, _Jensen," Quinn reminded the officer through gritted teeth; tears threatened to break through in this seemingly hopeless situation but she did her best to remain strong. Breaking down would do her no good right now.

Her eyes scanned the room for a way out of the small cabin; there were three doors – the front door, the back door and the last presumably leading to a grimy bathroom. Other than that, the room held a couple of bits of junk and a stray chair on its side to the left of Quinn – perhaps she could use that as a weapon, if only her hands weren't cuffed.

The whole terrifying situation turned Quinn's insides to ice. She thought she was going to scream, throw up and faint all at the same time. She wanted to run home and hide under her bed – something she obviously couldn't do anyway. She wished that she could wake up and let this all be a horrible, terrible nightmare. Yet it wasn't and she didn't. Instead, her face was as calm and placid as if she had just been told that they were having dinner an hour early.

_Focus, Quinn; think of all those spy novels you've ever read – what next?_

Jensen was silent, his expression unreadable, as he swung the stray chair around, its back to Quinn, and straddled it, so he was facing the defenceless teenager. Their eyes met for a few moments, hers terrified but trying in vain to keep her composure, while his eyes were calm, calculating, focused.

His gun, a small, black thing, was in his hands, prepared for anything; it wasn't directed at Quinn anymore, instead he twirled it around in his hands, inspecting each part of it.

It was after a couple of tense minutes that Quinn felt like hitting him – telling him to get it over with. The wait was killing her anyway.

The _wait.._ Jensen was _waiting._

But for who? And why?

Each second, minute, passed with an agonisingly slow pace. Quinn's imagination was working overtime. What kind of torturous death did Jensen and his invisible ally have in store? Was it to be painlessly quick or sadistically slow? Would she get to even beg for her life before the final blow came?

It was nearly fifteen minutes later that car lights lit up the dark cabin; the statuesque Jensen flinched very slightly at the sudden bright light and Quinn had to blink repetitively to stop her eyes from hurting. However, Jensen did not rise from his chair, his eyes transfixed on Quinn, still watching, still waiting.

The lights from outside flickered, went out for a moment, before turning back on, now dimmed, and quickly backed away. This caught Jensen's attention – he hadn't expected that.

He stood, turning his head to the left to stare out of the dirty window. The sight seemed to confuse him. He glanced at Quinn, who was quite obviously unable to move anyway, and took a step toward the door, placing a cautious hand on the doorknob.

In his head, Jensen evaluated the situation: it could be a trick, or perhaps the boy chickened out. It could be someone else, though, in which case great care had to be taken – especially if it was someone who could turn the entire plan on its head. If that happened, Jensen could say goodbye to everything he had.

Through the window, nothing of suspicion could be seen. But just because you can't see it, doesn't mean it's not there.

Jensen turned the knob and a bright unnatural light poured in, blinding the cabin's occupants.

"Shit," muttered Jensen, wiping his eyes with the back of one hand, the other still firmly grasping his gun. However, he persisted through the light, jogging into the white until his eyes finally adjusted. "Fucking turn it off!" Quinn heard him shout from outside. Car tyres screeched to a halt; the new stranger had returned.

The whole room plunged into darkness. Quinn squirmed uselessly against the handcuffs that bound her hands to the wall, suddenly wanting more than anything not to see whoever would walk through the cabin door; she had met enough traitors to last her a lifetime.

"Took your time getting here," Jensen commented quietly to his companion but the annoyed tone underneath was hard to hide. "Get lost?"

The grunt in reply sounded masculine, Quinn noted; not that she would have to wait too long to meet its owner.

The cabin door swung open. Jensen stepped through first. The second didn't immediately enter. Quinn's whole stomach was in her throat; she couldn't breathe. Her lungs felt squashed. The shadow from the low moonlight outside indicated this man was quite tall. With slightly spiked hair. And a body that hinted of an athletic nature - although only by the slightest bit, some love handles whispered teasingly.

"_No_," Quinn whispered. Her eyes were deceiving her; the dark room and the unusual circumstances were leading her to think crazy. Because this most definitely wasn't who she thought it was.

Jensen turned to look at Quinn, as if it was her reaction that he had been waiting for, not this visitor. She ignored Jensen though, her eyes set upon this one person, a man she thought she knew – thought she could trust.

"Finn."

* * *

It wasn't easy to follow whoever had snatched Quinn – the movies made it seem a piece of cake. Rachel was barely able to dim her lights, let alone keep them on, for fear of being seen! And with the sun pretty much set, Rachel was navigating through darkness, trying with all her might not to smash into someone's front porch.

A couple of times she thought that she'd lost track of them. Yet she refused to give up, pursuing onwards until she finally caught sight of the blue car's back license plate through the blackness. Then she would slow her car and turn off her lights, using the light of the car ahead to guide her through.

Then suddenly, they were gone. Rachel drove on for a further ten minutes, her speed increasing with her worry, until she told herself that she must have missed a turning. Heart thumping in her ears, she turned back, dim lights on, there was in fact a small turning – it wasn't easy to spot too, concealed by a great throng of trees surrounding and hanging over it.

The road grew narrower as the concrete vanished and was replaced by crackling stones and pebbles; Rachel had to slow her pace and reluctantly turn up her car lights, for fear of veering right off the difficult lane. She couldn't even be sure of where she was, or whether she was following the correct path.

Quinn could be dead by now, or _worse_. Anything could've happened to her – and she couldn't even run away. Rachel would never forgive herself if anything happened to Quinn. Rachel was so close.

Light filled a small clearing, a cabin suddenly only about fifteen feet from Rachel's car. Its abrupt appearance made Rachel jump and she reflexively turned out her car lights. Examining the yard, her eyes leaped to the blue Fiat directly in front of her – _Quinn._

She wanted to leap out of her car and search the one in front for her friend but sense told her _no._ This was meant to be a rescue effort, if anything, and getting out of the car would possibly be the stupidest thing Rachel could do.

She didn't want to but with no weapon and no plan, Rachel turned her lights back on and reversed back out of the clearing. Her stomach felt heavy with regret as she considered what awful circumstances Quinn could be trapped in at that moment and how close Rachel was to her. So close to helping her.

She was barely halfway back down the lane when another pair of headlights emerged from the darkness behind her, heading straight for Rachel's car rear. Squealing a little in fright, Rachel practically smashed down a large bush in trying to veer off the road and out of the car's way, hiding in the dark throng of trees. Her head snapped back and forward again as the back of her daddy's car hit a tree.

Rachel barely had time to whack her carlights off before she blacked out.

* * *

Finn, in his anxious, nerved state, hadn't even noticed the bumper of Hiram Berry's car poking out of the trees just to his left when his truck bounded up the bumpy path. His hands fought to keep a steady grip on the steering wheel. His eyes darted back and forth, searching through the darkness for any sign of life; not that it mattered as his mind was so distracted by the current events that a naked Sue Sylvester could have tap-danced in front of his truck and he probably wouldn't have realised.

He had been waiting for this moment for so long. _Too long._

When he had first started dating Rachel, he'd figured all of her "Quinn is so pretty and talented and brilliant"s was just Rachel voicing her jealous insecurities in comparison to Finn's ex. _Nothing to worry about_, Kurt had told him with an eye-roll.

Yet, _years_ later, Rachel persisted in her admiration for Quinn. Although now, it had become more than her physical appearance. Quinn's voice, her ideas, her interests, her troubles... _everything_. Rachel just wouldn't shut up about Quinn Fabray.

It wasn't until Finn's mother had made a joke that perhaps Rachel was crushing on Quinn after one Quinn-filled dinner with Rachel and the Hudson-Hummels, that Finn's brain started to whirl. Then Finn started to watch Rachel more carefully.

Stolen glances, hidden smiles, even a secret poem that Finn had quickly torn up upon uncovering in Rachel's bedroom, which, according to the drunken unnatural scrawls, was probably written after the Glee Club's experiment with alcohol at Rachel's last year; Finn's emotions were on a rollercoaster. What was going on with his girlfriend? Had her insecurities turned into an infatuation? Was this a girl-crush out of control? Perhaps this was Rachel's idea of a dramatic joke? Or was it something that even Finn couldn't stop?

But he had to.

He couldn't lose Rachel. He needed her – she was the only thing in his life that he had a firm grip on; she made him feel special. Despite popular belief, Finn knew that Rachel was out of his league.

He couldn't hurt Rachel. He loved her too much to even stand the thought of hurting her.

But Quinn... Finn no longer held the same flame for the blonde that he once did. Hurting her didn't seem so difficult now that he thought about it.

Google came in handy when he was searching for companies. Then when he had found one and racked in all the money he'd earned from helping Puck out with his pool-cleaning business, it was easy to follow through with. The company had taken things from there.

After the first attempt landed Quinn only in a wheelchair, Rachel's rants about Quinn become more frequent and intense. Guilt and regret helped fuel any feelings Rachel may have for the blonde, and it seemed that for Rachel, feelings were transforming into more apparent thoughts. Finn quickly noticed that Rachel preferred her time be spent with Quinn than her fiancé. Everything Finn had hoped for their future together was quickly become unravelled.

And he wasn't content to be married to someone who was forever longing for someone else.

So Quinn had to go. And then Rachel could focus all her affections back on Finn, and forget Quinn.

Jensen stood on the porch of the old cabin, watching Finn intently as he stepped out of his truck and walked over to him. "S'up?" Finn said after a moment, just to break the awkward silence.

"Took your time getting here. Get lost?" was Jensen's less than friendly reply; his eyes sparked with the fury of the wait.

Finn, remembering that this meeting was purely professional and they were not going to be friends anytime soon, imitated Jensen's mood and grunted his response, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

Jerking his head in the direction of the door, Jensen led Finn into the cabin. Finn's eyes immediately met Quinn's terrified hazel globes; confusion, disbelief and horror were key emotions in Quinn's usually lively and vibrant eyes.

"Finn." The name was barely above a whisper, Quinn's voice cracking under the weight of this discovery.

"Hey, Quinn," Finn said in response, even raising a casual hand in greeting, before stuffing both hands back in the pockets of his jeans. His shoulders were hunched and his eyes kept flickering from Quinn's, to the floor, to Jensen, unsure of where to look.

What was the appropriate reaction in this situation? It certainly was not the sudden and involuntary bark of laughter that leaped from Quinn's throat following her ex-boyfriend's reply.

Jensen and Finn stared, confirming the inappropriateness of their captive's reaction.

"No, no, come on," Quinn was saying, shaking her head. "It can't be... You're not – Finn, what are you doing here?" Proper sentences struggled to knit themselves together. Disbelief and (slowly) hurt was beginning to weave its way into her voice. But she couldn't believe it. This was Finn after all. Dumb, thoughtless Finn, captain of the football team and Glee Club - how could he have anything to do with this? Perhaps he was being forced into this. Maybe Jensen had chosen him to take the fall and blame for her death, and Finn had somehow been convinced to go along with it.

Then, for a moment, she considered whether Jensen had kidnapped Finn too; if Finn was in danger, as well as Quinn. However, in that case, shouldn't Finn be freaking out? Making a run for it? Showing _some_ sign of distress?

Instead, Jensen was standing a good foot from Finn, and although there was little to no respect for Finn in his expression, there was definitely an understanding that Jensen was not the one in charge of the situation – he was merely the player, while the game-master (as ridiculous as it was) stood sheepishly to his left.

Quinn knew. She didn't want to believe. But she knew.

Finn Hudson had orchestrated the hit on her life. And here he was, about to witness her murder, and he would do nothing to stop it.

"Why?" Quinn said, after a moment, since Finn was refusing to even deny that he played a part in this. The time for pretending was over, the final act of the show was in motion; from here, anything could happen.

Jensen pursed his lips; he would rather get this show on the road, get it over with and move onto his next job. Then again, this girl was going to die tonight – in his mind, she should at least know why. Although, whether Hudson could muster up enough brain power to explain his ridiculous theory was still up for debate. Jensen leaned back against the dirty window of the cabin, crossing his arms, gun still in hand, and turned his eyes to watch his temporary 'boss' breath heavily and remove his hands from his pockets.

"Why," Finn repeated, saying it more as a statement than a question. "Because you're stealing my girlfriend, Quinn. You've been stealing her for months and it has to stop." His voice was quiet, his eyes darting up to meet Quinn's, although his head was bowed.

"What?" Quinn's eyes widened, shock streaming from her every feature. What kind of dope had Finn been smoking? "What the hell are you talking about?" Her heart beat faster than it had all night, and not for the reasons one would expect.

"Rachel!" Finn suddenly shouted, raising his arms into the air and taking a clanking step toward the blonde. "You're turning her_ queer_! But she's not, Quinn; she's straight, my girlfriend, and in love with_ me_. Yet you won't back off. Even stuck in a wheelchair, you still take every opportunity to drag her away from me." Finn's veins bulged with fury; he was so close now that Quinn could smell the bad tacos he'd had for dinner.

"So you want to _kill _me?" The intelligence of her former boyfriend continued to astonish her. She wasn't trying to steal Rachel; she never was. Until recently, she had never thought of Rachel in that way... Wait, did that mean Rachel thought of _her_ in _that_ way?

The blush was completely unintentional. However, it did not go unnoticed by either man in the room.

"HA!" Finn cried out, pointing an accusatory finger at Quinn. "See! It's true. Goddammit, I knew it!" He looked at Jensen, as if for approval but the returning look was blank, uninterested.

Tears began to drip from beneath Quinn's eyelids, partly from the humiliation of it all and partly from the hopelessness Quinn found herself in. Finn was crazed by jealousy, and Jensen was a trained killer, from what Quinn could assume. She would be dead soon. She would be dead, and she never got to win Prom Queen, go to Yale, and tell Rachel... _everything_. Everything that Quinn had only just started to allow herself to feel and want.

So she closed her eyes and prayed. She prayed that her grandmother would meet her when she went. She prayed that death would be quick, not drawn out and pained. She prayed that her family, remaining on earth, would be safe and lead happy lives after her death, even her estranged father. She prayed that Rachel would find love and success. She even prayed that the Glee Club would win at Nationals.

Upon noticing Quinn's tears, Finn's awkward manner returned and he stopped his triumphant pointing. Giving her one last glare, he licked his lips and nodded once to himself, reaffirming to himself that what he was doing was for the good of himself and Rachel – being gay wasn't a positive lifestyle and would only lead to more obstacles and hardships (look at Kurt, for example). Quinn's death would be hard on everyone but in the long run, it would be one less ex-girlfriend, nuisance and danger for Finn Hudson. People would move on and forget.

Next, he nodded at Jensen, giving him the signal that it was time. Finn walked toward the door of the cabin but paused upon opening the door, staring out into the night. When he spoke, his voice was quiet and sombre. "Sorry, Quinn. For your sake, I do hope there's a Heaven and you get in."

Then, he was gone. Quinn could just about make out the heavy pads of his feet treading over the wooden porch outside, then the gravel and finally the slam of his car door.

Pleading was futile, and anyway, Quinn was better than that. She saw the look in Jensen's eyes – determined, focused, prepared for the kill – pleading would just piss him off and possibly lead to a more painful death than necessary.

She had seen a documentary on TV recently, its name escaped her but its primary content did not; a story was told of a woman who, faced with an armed killer, began telling the man everything about her life – so he would know exactly who he was about to kill and who would be left devastated by it – appealing to his sense of humanity. The girl walked away with her life.

"My real name is Lucy Quinn Fabray but am more commonly known as Quinn; I changed my name because in my previous school I was bullied for being overweight and unattractive. They called me Lucy Caboosey. I was born September 21st in 1993, and when I was sixteen years old, I gave birth to a beautiful baby girl, Beth. Giving her up was one of the hardest things I've ever done in my life. Shelby Corcoran is her mother now and she is brilliant at it, but I still miss and pray for Beth every day of my life.

"Recently, I've discovered I love someone I never thought I would. Rachel Barbra Berry. And now, I want to be with her. When she goes to NYADA, I want to visit her every day and tell her how successful and strong she will be. I want to go to Yale, where I will come top of my class.

"I have been a teen mother, cheated on, cheated with, kicked out of the Cheerios, kicked out of my home, hit rock bottom so fast I could barely see the light anymore and hit by a truck. And yet I still want to live. I am eighteen years old and have my whole life ahead of me. I am Quinn Lucy Fabray and I am going to get out of Lima, Ohio, and live."

Throughout her speech, Quinn's voice became stronger and louder. She wanted to live, she really did. She didn't want to die in some old clichéd cabin out in the middle of nowhere.

Jensen had stood silently as she spoke, his face blank and emotionless, letting her speak her piece. He waited until she stopped and he paused before speaking.

"You forgot to mention your family," he said, calmly, kneeling down so he was at eye-level with Quinn.

"What?"

"Your family. What about them?"

"I – I... my mum, she -" Quinn had been knocked off-guard by this. She had forgotten to mention her family, yes, and now, given the chance, she was too flabbergasted to speak.

"It's okay. I'll help you out. I mean, you don't get along with your dad since he kicked you out, right? While your mother just sat by and watched. In fact, you haven't seen him in about eighteen months, because he'd brought his new girlfriend to the dinner you'd agreed to attend with him. Jenny, her name was, and a year younger than your older sister, Frannie. That's sick, isn't it? Not to mention, they spent the whole dinner giggling and ignoring you – did they even notice you leave halfway through the main?

"You've forgiven your mother. Good for you. She was there for the birth of your daughter, along with Beth's godmother, Mercedes Jones, and father, Noah Puckerman. She was born during your Glee Club's Regionals and -"

"Stop! Shut up! Shut up!" Quinn screamed, wishing she could move her hands enough to cover her ears. Fresh tears streamed down her cheeks. "You bastard. Shut up!"

She didn't want to know how he knew all this. Although, with the heaps of technology and resources available, information like this wasn't exactly difficult to come by; hospital records, CCTV cameras, who knew what else he had flicked through, finding out every detail of this girl's life?

"You've had a hard life, Lucy, for someone so young. And now, I'm going to end that hard life. You can be with your God; you can let everything go and just _be_."

He cocked his gun, standing and pointing it in between Quinn's eyes. Her fear screamed at her to shut her eyes, think of a happy place and ignore this whole bullshit situation. However, she wouldn't show her fear. She was strong – she would be strong until the end and look him right in the eyes as he killed her.

Yet, all she could see was the dark, soulless opening of the gun.

_Bang._

* * *

**AN:**** I am _really_ sorry for not getting this uploaded on Thursday/Friday, as I told some. Things have been going on and I just couldn't find the time to edit and upload this chapter. It's up now though, and if all goes well, I'll try to get the next one uploaded soon (school starts up again this Thursday so we'll see how things go). Definitely no more than a week!****!**

**Fortunately, this chapter was longer than the previous, so_ forgive me_? :)**

_Reviews inspire me to write; care to be my muse?_


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: ****Since I forgot/neglected to add it at the start... -****_DISCLAIMER:_ I do not own Glee or any of its characters. Because, if I did own it, it would be so much different and Faberry would be STARTGAME, MIDGAME and ENDGAME. And Finn would be attacked by a swarm of ravenous bees each and every episode.**

**Credit to**** pressedlemonsaur .tumblr .com for the cover art! She is willing to make more for other fanfictions, if you request it.**

**Reviews and queries are strongly encouraged! (you may also send them to my tumblr (**thecapitolwhore**), if you wish). Feedback makes me want to update faster!**

* * *

**Chapter 4:**

She had abandoned her car in the safety of the darkness. Her eyes were trained on the small dark cabin, lit only by the weak headlights of the two cars in front of it. One of the cars belonged, unfortunately, to her – _ex –_ boyfriend; however, Rachel didn't even want to consider Finn's part in this right now.

Yet she had to know what was going on inside that cabin.

Finn always left the keys to his truck on top of the front left wheel. Even so, Rachel had to fumble around in the darkness for a few moments before finding them; she was terrified that even the light of her mobile phone would alert the men and Quinn in the cabin to her presence. If Quinn's life was truly in danger, then taking that chance would be far too reckless. Laying low and without notice was key to survival.

Unlocking Finn's passenger door, Rachel crept in and closed it quietly behind her. She was cloaked by darkness in here, and to be honest, it was much warmer than the rapidly falling temperatures of outside. The cosy atmosphere of Finn's truck, where many a - slightly awkward and overly enthusiastic - make out session had occurred between her and Finn in the past, almost succeeded in calming Rachel's nerves. Alas, a glimpse back up at the cabin, in which Quinn was no doubt trapped, reminded Rachel that her nerves were well-placed. Perhaps some adrenaline would do her some good too, should it hit at the correct moment.

Rachel began her search. Plenty of Twinkie wrappers littered the floor of the truck, as well as the strong stench of bad tacos – the meaty smell made the vegan Rachel gag in disgust – and music sheets from Glee Club rehearsal were piled into a messy stack next to Rachel. Opening a hatch, Finn's mobile phone had been thrown in there, probably just before he vacated the vehicle a few minutes ago.

She took the phone and flipped it open; a picture of her and Finn smiling, her placing a soft kiss on his cheek, stared back at her. The lump in her throat re-emerged and she quickly clicked onto his 'call log'. Other than numerous phone calls to her, Puck, and his mum, nothing seemed amiss.

Suddenly, she saw something that made her double-track. "_Quick Solutions_" was the contact name and they had called him once about an hour ago; the call had lasted one minute and twelve seconds.

Glancing once back up at the cabin (through the dirty window, partially covered by an unknown man, she could see Finn advance forward, talking down to someone – Quinn? - and he didn't look happy), she clicked the 'call' button.

After three rings, an automated voice spoke, "Quick Solutions: Tie Up Your Loose Ends with America's Number Three Hit Service. Press one to order a hit and we'll connect you through to one of our servicers. Press two to be connected to a supervisor. Press three to confirm a hit. Press four for our special deals and offers this month!" The female voice was cheerful and professional, as if ignorant of the true meaning her words held. Rachel swallowed. The voice was starting to say, "I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that. Press one to order a hit -" She pressed the 'end call' button.

It took Rachel a few moments to catch up with her rampant thoughts. A hit? Meaning an _assassination_? Why the hell would Finn want to order a hit on anyone, let alone Quinn!

Digging through the hatch again, Rachel found something else she wished she hadn't.

A small revolver, most likely stolen from Burt's locker or somewhere similar, was hidden beneath a few more music sheets.

"Finn, what the hell have you gotten yourself into?" she whispered, her wide eyes slowly raising to watch the cabin; the hand holding the gun trembled. Then, almost as if he'd heard her speak, Finn appeared at the cabin's entrance. He paused, said something Rachel couldn't make out, and then stomped down the steps to his truck.

Rachel gave a little squeak and ducked. It didn't matter anyway; he would see her as soon as he got into the truck. The gun fell into her lap.

When he couldn't find his keys on the wheel and had conducted a quick search on the ground around it, Finn figured he must have left them in the ignition – it wouldn't be the first time. The door was unlocked, which should have registered something being strange with the frankenteen. Yet it didn't, and he got into the truck with a light sigh of someone who has just finished an annoying but worthwhile deed.

"Rachel?!" The gun seemed to raise itself but all Rachel knew was that when Finn entered the car and saw his ex girlfriend sat on the seat beside him, the shaking gun was half a foot higher and pointed at his chest.

She didn't know what to say to him. Who could? He had betrayed hers and Quinn's trust completely and was going to sit in this old truck while that man murdered Quinn in that goddamn cabin.

"Call it off!" Rachel shouted, the gun, although shaking, did not remove its aim from Finn's torso. "Call off the hit!"

"R-Rachel? What are you doing here? What the hell are you doing with Burt- my gun? Rachel, please. Just calm down," Finn pushed himself back against the door of the truck, his terrified eyes finding the gun. He raised his hands in the air in a surrendering gesture. It was a struggle to keep himself from screaming and his voice calming.

"You want to kill Quinn! Dead, Finn – what the fuck are you thinking? It's _Quinn_!" Rachel continued to shout, jerking the gun at Finn. Her voice was shrill and her expression was a mixture of horrified disbelief and utter fury.

"I know it's Quinn, Rachel! But that's it, isn't it? It's _always _Quinn!" Finn argued back, although his fear still remained. He wanted her more than anything to understand him and his motives. Yet he had hoped she would never found out about this. His plan was rapidly unravelling before his eyes and it scared him to death. He couldn't lose Rachel after all of this - all his work and time spent doing this. For them.

"Not this again. Finn, stop it! Stop this madness. Please!" Her eyes still on her cowering boyfriend, Rachel let a hand off the gun and scrambled around to grab Finn's mobile, which she had placed back in the hatch. Seizing it, she tossed the phone toward Finn. "Call them and tell... tell them you've changed your mind. Tell them you don't want Quinn to die. Tell them it's over!"

Finn disconnected his eyes from the gun to stare down at the mobile in his lap. He seemed afraid to touch it, almost as if it were a poisonous snake poised to attack. "I – I can't... Rachel, I can't," he said, a moment later. He refused to meet her eyes.

"Can't or _won't_?" Rachel's lips curled into a cruel snarl, before she relaxed a little, attempting a different approach. "Please Finn, don't let her die. I... I love _you. _Not her." On second thought, that truth could be debatable, especially after everything that had happened between the three of them, but now wasn't the time to inform Finn of that detail.

Finn thought for a second, then replied in a low but strong voice. "I won't, Rachel. I may lose you over this but in the long run, she will be the distraction that will destroy you. I love you, though, and will always be there for you. Then, maybe, one day, if you forgive me, you can learn to really love me again."

Rachel was past being shocked or disappointed – but she wasn't about to give up; Quinn's life depended on her next move.

"Get out of the truck, Finn," she tried to keep her voice as calm as possible, despite the pounding her heart was going through in that moment.

Finn tried to argue, even going so far as to reach for his truck keys on Rachel's own lap but she slapped his hand away and kicked him roughly in the calf with her kitten heeled shoes. "Get out!" she repeated, this time the tone was more threatening, pushing the gun closer to him.

If she had to, would she really be able to shoot him?

He obeyed. Shuffling out of the car, Rachel followed him through the same door, gun constantly trained on his back, closing it with a light pat that felt too loud.

"Go to the door," she ordered, tapping him with the gun. He twitched at the touch but did not react otherwise.

Thinking back to several action/adventure movies Puck had made Rachel watch with him last Hanukkah, Rachel would never have thought she'd be starring in her own. Although she couldn't help praying that the genre 'action' would be used loosely in this situation. Approaching the door and seeing the shadow of the hired assassin through the crack, looming over a still Quinn, she just had time to remember to flick off the safety, before her adrenaline kicked in.

With surprising strength, Rachel shoved Finn to the side, kicked the door open with a loud bang that ricocheted around the cabin like a gun shot and ran inside. She directed her gun at the man's back and screamed, "Get the fuck away from her, you piece of shit!"

Silence.

Then, a weak voice broke the silence.

"R-Rachel?"

"Quinn!" Momentarily forgetting the highly dangerous situation they found themselves in, Rachel ran over to the handcuffed Quinn, who was blinking speedily in an attempt to comprehend Rachel's sudden appearance, and took her into a warm hug. "Quinn, I'm here. I'm here for you. You're safe. You're safe, sweetie."

"Not quite," Jensen interrupted the girls' embrace. "Now I'm going to have to kill you both." He shot a glance back at the astounded Finn, who stood by the door dumbly, although jealous anger was beginning to show as he watched Rachel's protective stance over Quinn. Jensen's added comment of "I may have to charge extra for this," went unheard by Quinn.

"Leave her alone! Or I'll shoot!" Rachel threatened, waving her gun in Jensen's direction. For a moment, she considered pointing it toward Finn but he most definitely couldn't be considered as much of a threat to them as the assassin he'd hired.

"You've never used a gun in your life. I can see from the way you're holding it. So don't threaten me, little girl. I can kill you both in one shot and be out of here in five minutes," Jensen told Rachel, narrowing his eyes a little. So this was the Rachel everyone was fighting over? She didn't seem like much – a little short, big nose and too much determination in her eyes for his liking. Still, he appreciated her ambition; there weren't many left like her that he'd met. Her stubborn resilience was impressive.

"Whatever Finn is paying you, I'll double it," Rachel said without hesitation, her gun still pointing at Jensen's rigid form; she stood and straightened her back, doing her best to exude as much authority and confidence as she could muster, even though, inside, all she could consider was how painful a bullet ripping through her, then Quinn, would be.

Jensen laughed a big hearty laugh, but when he finally composed himself enough to return his steady gaze to Rachel, there was some seriousness hiding behind those dark eyes. "How could you possibly begin to get the money for that? You don't even know how much your boyfriend's paying me for this," Jensen challenged.

"My fathers," Rachel replied, her eyes glinting knowingly. "Since I was an infant, they have put together a fund for my future – and it's larger than you would have thought possible for a couple of their salaries. I am quite certain that it will be enough to cover the expenses." Her face betrayed no word of a lie; either this girl was one hell of an actress or she was telling the truth, Jensen thought to himself.

"Rachel, don't! That's your future! I won't let you give up NYADA for me – you belong in New York!" Quinn whispered furiously to Rachel, just managing to lift a restrained hand enough to tug at Rachel's jacket. The blonde did not want to die, but she would rather do just that than sacrifice Rachel's future. Rachel's future was everything to the brunette - _her_ own life.

"Be quiet, Quinn!" Rachel said without turning. "In return, you and your company will never go near Quinn Fabray again," Rachel continued, talking to Jensen. "You will disregard your previous mission and leave Lima, Ohio, and not look back. If you hurt Quinn, _ever, _the deal is off and I will find you and I promise that I will hurt you – no matter what you believe I am capable of." Rachel's expression was fierce and true; not one person in that room doubted her words.

"Fair enough," Jensen said, a moment later, after taking her words into deep consideration. If the girl was being honest and could deliver the money, he could pocket his original fee and a bit more, and give QS the remaining money to stop their whining about his incomplete job. "But how do I know you're not just bluffing?"

"You don't," replied Rachel simply, angling her head a little to the left and never breaking eye contact. She was on risky ground but couldn't falter yet. "It's up to you whether to believe me or not. I would recommend the former, however, if you would like to go somewhere nice for the summer," Rachel added, licking her dry lips as her nerves threatened to break through.

The big boss would not be pleased at this turnaround. Nevertheless, for a while, Jensen had been considering getting out of the game – should he get that extra money, he would be two steps closer to turning his back on the company and that bitch of a boss. It was too tempting an offer.

Rachel's heart thumped all the wilder when she saw the brief but positive change in her foe's expression; could this really be working? She was literally giving up her life's savings for Quinn's life but she knew it was completely worth it, and now, this was happening.

Until Finn Hudson opened his big mouth.

"We have a deal, Jensen. Turn your back on it and I will tell the police, the company, the President, whoever I can, about this. You will go to prison," Finn warned, half desperately. They had come so far; giving up now was a joke. Anyway, Finn had spent all of his own college funds (and even some of Kurt's) on this endeavour. What other choice did he have but to see it through?

Jensen spun on his heel and rounded on Finn. "Look, kid, you may think you're the boss of me but you're not, okay? I could kill you without you even realising it, so you can go eat shit if you think you can threaten me," Jensen shoved the taller teenager backward, causing Finn to slam painfully into the frame of the door.

Rachel took a step forward in reflex. Despite her current feelings toward her ex-boyfriend, she didn't want to see him hurt.

Fear mixed with anger was evident in Finn's expression but he made no move to act on it. However, he wasn't done with his words. "We have a deal. Don't go back on it," Rachel could just about hear him murmur to Jensen, who stiffened in response.

Jensen lifted a hand and for a terrifying moment, Rachel thought he was either going to smack or strangle Finn. Instead, he clapped a hand on Finn's shoulder, in what could be described as a companionly gesture. Finn even chanced a grin at this.

That was when Jensen whacked a hand across Finn's face, hitting him through the cabin's open doorway and landing just out of view of Quinn and Rachel, the latter of whom was trying desperately to slip Quinn's hands from the cuffs. "Don't tell me what to do!" Jensen screamed, his voice filling the night sky and sleeping birds scattering into the clouds. The muffled thump of a boot hitting Finn's stomach echoed through the trees.

Rachel froze, scrambling to pick up the gun that she had dropped moments earlier to help Quinn. From their position at the side of the small cabin, she could just about make out Finn's feet through the darkness; he wasn't moving. Jensen had knocked him out cold.

The assassin entered the cabin once more; his eyes crazed and his hair ruffled, he did not look happy. "Goddammit!" he shouted to nobody in particular, letting his anger ebb from him in vicious waves, hitting Rachel over and over.

She had to say something. She had to know where they stood. Had Finn truly signed hers and Quinn's death warrant now? Perhaps even his own?

"You'll let Quinn go free now. I will transfer your payment over to you tonight, after you leave Quinn safely to her home – I will even go with you tonight and you can watch..." Rachel spoke quickly, her hand reaching for Quinn's and squeezing it gently.

However, Jensen was barely listening. His mind was a whirlpool of angry, vicious thoughts. "This goddamn job," he growled, waving his gun aimlessly around in front of him. "Should've been a binman, like my dad warned me. But no, had to be adventure, danger, _murder._ Not worth it," he began muttering, pacing back and forth opposite the girls.

"Mr. Jensen, please. We should go – I called the co-" Shit, no. That was a mistake. Never, ever give up your back-up plan. Never. Rachel zipped her mouth shut, praying he hadn't heard.

No such luck. Her words hit him like a slap to the face.

"Cops!" Jensen was livid. He was in too deep now. He had wasted too much time. It was now or never. If he went back to jail, he was in it for life - or rather, _death_. He was screwed.

As if on cue, the faint whirring of sirens came into hearing.

He pointed the gun at Quinn first. "This ends tonight. Fuck your money. I'm finishing the job," he told her, striding toward them, gun jabbing the air as he clicked back the safety.

The shot pierced the air, temporarily deafening Rachel, who didn't have time to cover her ears. Not that it mattered, as she leapt to the right. The bullet entered the right side of her abdomen.

Her scream was agonisingly awful; pain erupted through not just her side but her every fibre. The little piece of metal ripped into her flesh, shrapnel exploding and hitting as much of her insides as it could. For all she knew, her mid-section could have been torn clean in half – it certainly felt that way.

Jensen sighed. "For god's sake," he started, cocking his gun again. "That was unnecessary. Either way, you're both going to die."

"Please!" Quinn screamed, finally finding her voice and bending forward to shield Rachel from more harm with her body. "Don't hurt her!" Rachel lay across Quinn's lap, sobbing gently from the pain now that her screams had subsided.

"It'll all be over momentarily. No more pain," Jensen said quietly, bowing his head for a moment as he spoke, and raised his gun, once again for Quinn – after all, the hit was originally intended for her.

Tires on gravel were moving closer - no more than twenty feet from the cabin. "You won't get away," Quinn told him defiantly, very aware of the blood pouring profusely from Rachel's abdomen onto her useless legs. She had to stay strong though; _don't react, Quinn; don't cry,_ she told herself firmly.

Jensen shrugged. "I will or I won't," was his reply. "I'm past caring." There was only the job. Even if the likelihood of this being his last was incredibly strong. Cassie would forgive - she had encouraged this hit anyway.

And then there was a bang and the vision turned black and nothing existed. There was only Quinn and Rachel and the blood slowly dripping from the hole in Jensen's right cheek.

"R-Rachel?" The gun was raised for only a second longer before the weight of it became too much for Rachel and it had to be dropped, clattering to the floor. The sobs continued. Her heart ached. Rachel could feel her mind, soul and everything slowly begin to slip from her, flowing away with the steady stream of blood from her abdomen. No matter how much Quinn tried, her hands could not staunch the flow of blood. It tore her heart in half.

"Oh, god, Rach," Quinn tried to hug Rachel closer, wanting to be as near as possible to her heroine but this only elicited a yelp of pain as the thin material of Quinn's top brushed Rachel's wound.

"I-I'm sorry, Quinn; I'm so sorry," Rachel was weeping. The body of Adam Jensen twitched one final time from where it had fallen to the dirty floor and was still. Quinn and Rachel were alone at last.

Quinn managed a small smile, a rush of emotions hitting her like a flood. "What have I told you about apologising? There's no need. I have plenty to be happy about. Plenty," she whispered, brushing brown hair from Rachel's eyes. It was sticking to her forehead, where a thin layer of pained sweat now rested.

"I know," Rachel replied, her voice quiet and her breaths coming in quick, light bursts. A tear slid from beneath her eyelid, trailing down her cheek onto Quinn's hand, which was gently stroking the brunette's cheek. The simple bead of salty water set Quinn's skin alive and she willed, stronger than ever, for Rachel to keep breathing.

"Please don't leave me, Rachel."

The sirens approached.

* * *

**AN:**** I don't usually update this late in the day but school wouldn't allow me to update it any earlier - and it's better than waiting until tomorrow, I guess. Really happy with my new timetable - I have half days every Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday, which means more time devoted to my writing. YAY.**

******By the way, as you probably know, this story was complete weeks ago. Unfortunately, my dad's laptop, on which it was saved, crashed recently. I managed to recover _most _of the epilogue but this weekend shall be dedicated to rewriting its end. It's annoying to do but it could be worse, right? **

_Reviews inspire me to write; care to be my muse?_


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